


Thoughts of a White Rose on a Darkened Garden

by Ticigi



Series: On the Nature of Daylight [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackcest (Harry Potter), Drama, Dubious Morality, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Regulus Black Deserves Better, Sibling Incest, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25196026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ticigi/pseuds/Ticigi
Summary: Find me, my love, in the darkened garden,After everyone’s blanketed in dreamsAnd fulfil my wish under the stars that named us.Regulus Black is born with a gift that changes the course of his relationship with Sirius and his own fate. Sirius makes a promise.
Relationships: Orion Black/Walburga Black, Regulus Black & Bartemius Crouch Jr., Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Regulus Black/Sirius Black, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter
Series: On the Nature of Daylight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825267
Comments: 20
Kudos: 136





	Thoughts of a White Rose on a Darkened Garden

**Author's Note:**

> The poem is vaguely based on one I found on tumblr once, in a picture, but sadly, it had no reference and I couldn't find it on Google because I can't remember the exact words, just the general idea.

His headache was slowly getting worse. Everything was saturated.

Outside, the usual chirping from the birds in conjunction with Mother screaming at Sirius at the floor below made an unbearable cacophony. To exacerbate his suffering, the afternoon sunlight rays intruding through the open window burned through his sensitive eyes when he opened them in the hopes of getting up or calling for Kreacher, if he was available, to close the curtains.

Guilt burned at the back of his mind; he should be doing something productive, like reading and studying, instead of wasting another day in bed. Earlier, the house elf brought him a mild pain potion, which soothed it temporarily, but the pain progressively increased to its current state.

Perhaps he could ask for a stronger potion, but the high-pitched voice downstairs denoted anger, therefore, probably wouldn't be wise of him to bother Mother with his problems. Father was most likely in his study and certainly wouldn't like to be interrupted from work to such a domestic task that could be easily solved by the lady of the house. He sighed, dejected. If Kreacher had some knowledge of potions and permission to freely access Mother's stocks, his life would be much easier.

There was another, though troublesome, option: to sleep, but lately, whenever he had a headache and went to sleep, horrible dreams haunted him and stolen his only solace from the pain – the previous peacefulness of sleeping.

The dreams, most times, consisted of confusing parts of him feeling sad and anxious and thirsty inside a dark cave, with something sinister under the invading seawater that so far he could only get a glimpse of, but was enough to know he didn't want to see more of whatever that was. There also was a sense of finality to it – as if the suffering was his duty, a piece of something of prime relevancy – and a hopelessness trapped inside his chest, constricting his insides, like he had no other choice and no other place and, most importantly, no one to run to.

The loneliness always kept lingering for a long time after being afflicted with these dreams. Dreams, he thought, with a hint of bitterness, that felt dreadfully close to premonitions. And the Sight runs in the family.

Perhaps he was slowly walking into the dark abyss of the infamous Black madness.

Scared of the tumultuous thoughts taking place inside his aching head, an effort was made to keep himself clear of such appalling ideas and instead focus on the annoying sounds echoing through Grimmauld Place.

As sleeping the pain away wasn't a desired option, Regulus merely closed his eyes and tried to relax and not move much, hoping it would pass soon. Then, just as the thundering beats of his heart started to slow down, he heard loud thumps from the stairs. Probably Sirius being once again dramatic and throwing a tantrum after a scolding. Thinking he would hear the heavy steps passing straight to the next door, Sirius's bedroom, it mildly surprised him to hear said steps stopping by his own, and the door cracking open.

"Reg,” the sound came, inquisitive, “I saw Mother sending Kreacher with a potion to your room at lunch, are you feeling better now?” asked the older brother, entering.

"Not really," he answered in a suave, low voice that wasn't much different from when he was healthy.

 _My tender_ , _sweet_ _boy_ , _such_ _a_ _good and_ _obedient son_ , Walburga Black used to say. Orion seemed to have an entirely different opinion regarding his son's gentle, quiet nature; although from his lips never passed a word to contradict his wife's opinions regarding their youngest child, his cold grey eyes, mirrors to his children's own, almost screamed his thoughts: weak, gullible. To such a disappointed gaze, in his mind always crept a tiresome thought – _why_ _can't_ _I_ _be more like Sirius?_ _Minus minus all the pranks._ _I wouldn't like to be scolded so much._

"Well, I was going to ask if you wanted me to ask Mother for another one, but I don't think it’s a good idea. She's mad because I was messing with Kreacher. Do you – do you want me to look for Father and ask?"

"No, don’t worry, it's not necessary,” the words were proclaimed with a certain urgency not unnoticed by the older brother, "I'll just wait for it to pass. But thank you for offering."

There was a pause. Sirius's expression was uneasy, like he wanted to help but didn't know what to do. Normally, he didn't pay a lot of attention to his younger brother, aside from family reunions – which he dreaded – and when he had some mischievous plan to irritate their parents or the elf that required an assistant, but as Regulus has gotten worse, having headaches as an almost daily occurrence lately, the older brother seemed to be becoming increasingly attentive.

"Alright. But you can tell me if there's anything you need."

"Since you asked, could you please close the curtains?"

“Sure,” he answered, crossing the room and fetching the heavy, dark green fabric.

When Sirius finished the task and turned to his direction, Regulus was, for the second time, surprised when he felt his brother's warm hands reaching his forehead, the lightly placed palm covering the sweat drops there.

"Siri, what are you doing?” questioned Regulus, in an almost whisper, feeling suddenly small, a sense of warmth growing in his trembling chest.

"Checking if you have a fever, since no one else is." He answered, a tiny amount of exasperation surfacing in his eyes.

He fought the lump in his throat. Why Sirius has to be so mean? The implication was uncomfortably clear and unnecessary, though clearly not meant to be directed at him. Not able to avoid gazing down and clenching at his covers, he noted that Sirius must have noticed the discomfort, because when he looked up again the sentiment expressed through his eyes was gone, replaced by regret and something else that he couldn't exactly pinpoint.

"I guess now you don’t have much of a choice, I'll go ask for help. The fever is not that high, but I think you should definitely take a potion and go to sleep.”

"Don’t worry,” he continued, "I'll stay here when Mother comes. And I can stay until you go to sleep.”

"No need to, I'm not a baby anymore,” he couldn’t avoid the pouting.

"But Reggie, I'm the older brother, so that makes you the my _baby_ brother he teased with a grin, ready to go look for Mother, the early disturbance already forgotten.

"I'm not,” he protested weakly, "Just because you're older doesn't mean you get to call me that."

"Oh, really,” he quivered, sounding amused, “What about being afraid of the dark? I heard you practically sprinting on the corridor to get to the bathroom last night, _baby_ brother."

That, Sirius noted, reached the younger boy in a rather violent manner. Clenching his hands around the soft silk of the sheets, Regulus looked down, a mortified look taking place on his delicate features, with a frown forming between his fine eyebrows, thin lips opening and, on second thought, closing immediately after.

For a long, silent moment, neither of them dared moving, as if the slightest movement would break something important, until the older boy gazed at the door, the thought about maintaining his word by seeking help interrupted by Regulus’s oddly cold and constricted voice, as if the mere though of voicing his next words suffocated him, and he tried to detach from it’s meaning.

"That's because I'm going to be in the dark when I die,” came the chilling confession.

Under the alarmed, confused expression on Sirius's face, he resigned himself to stare at the covers once again and didn't return to look up when he heard the voicing of the inevitable questioning that he knew would follow.

"Reg, what do you mean?” Was asked with a distressed and urgent undertone in Sirius voice, though he was clearly trying to hide it with a neutrality that didn’t came quite right.

Sirius was an open person, and never quite mastered the art of hidding his feelings under a blank face.

"Nothing. Never mind. Go find Mother, please." Regulus retorted with the same distress his brother tried to occult.

Before Sirius had a chance to reply, he repeated himself in a harsher tone, "Go find her, please.”

“Fine,” was the answer, in matching harshness, "But don't think you can run away from this.”

An indifferent "whatever" settled the implicit deal; Sirius would at least leave him in peace for the time being.

Walburga Black entered the room with her usual impassive expression a short time later; Kreacher carrying a beautifully ornamented silver tray with two vials, a glass of water and a bow of soup right behind her, and brief worry showed through her eyes while she seated on his bed, long, pale fingers undoing the wrinkles newly formed on her burgundy skirt. His brother, despite previous words, was absent.

"So,” she began with a firm voice, "Sirius brought to my attention that the potion you took wasn’t effective."

Regulus acquiesced with a nod of his head.

"I had brew a stronger one, to store in case the one you received today didn't work, however it's not advisable to rely on this one too often, for it is much stronger,” and, reaching Regulus's forehead, she continued, "You'll also take one for your fever, but first, since you didn't joined us for a meal today, I want you to eat this,” she continued, taking the bowl from the tray, "And don't give me this face boy, this wasn't a question." She finished, after noticing his dejected face at the prospect of eating.

For a mother of two, she certainly had a way of showing concern in a authoritative, cold way. With a soft sigh, he lifted himself to a sitting position – a gest of resignation. He could never bring himself to defy her orders.

Mother was, undoubtely, the fiercest person he ever met, and never let anyone – aside from Father, the Head of the family, whose domineering nature only showed on rare, rationally chosen occasions – step over her will. Sirius and uncle Alphard knew well, as they've been under the scrutiny of her sharp tongue and judgmental gaze several times when they crossed the line and fell prey of her tempestuous temperament; of course, for uncle Alphard, she reserved intelligently formed insults, delivered in elegant ways, with her noble appearance and delicate gestures, although those icy attacks held no less power than the more straightforward and heated ones, an exclusivity reserved for Sirius.

When he reached for the spoon and began eating, a hand was placed delicately on his dark hair, gently running jewelled fingers through it’s soft waves.  
The warm feeling in his chest came back, and he soaked into it; this relatively rare occasion must be carefully placed in his memory, for it would be nice to remember as a consolation after one of his bad dreams.

Lifting his head to look at his Mother's eyes, he saw warmth and affection, which prompted the involuntary lifting on the corners of his mouth. In return, Mother's full lips also turned into a shy, introspective smile – a rare gift. She was beautiful, and this expression suited her much better than her customary impassive demeanour, he decided.

Returning to his previous task, none of them spoke until after he returned the bowl for Kreacher, the silent observer, and he swallowed the bitter taste of an odd coloured potion. After a brief inspection to check if the fever still persisted, she handled him a second vial. Hesitating to take the object, containing a peach coloured liquid, he heard his Mother voice breaking the silence.

"This one is for the fever, and I assure you it tastes much better, don't worry.” True to her words, it was a relief when the sweetened taste hit his tongue, finishing the purpose of her visit.

Too tired to fight the sleep inducing effects of the headache potion, he felt himself being covered by her, and with a last affectionate gesture – resting her knuckles briefly on his reddened cheek – she left.

Thanks to sleeping too early, next day he was fully awake at dawn, when, beside himself, only Kreacher could be heard pacing quietly around the house, the wood floors making cracking sounds occasionally.

After calling for the elf, who happily arranged a bath for him, as chattering as always around him, “Kreacher is glad that sir is better,” and “I is preparing Master Regulus favourite pudding today” among more talk about food, a possible display of preoccupation with the fact that he ate nothing but soup the previous day, he finally got time alone.  
Another dream haunted him, but instead of the usual dreadful one, he dreamed about an entirety different matter, and it’s haunting was of an entirely different nature.

It felt good. Unnaturally good.

Determined to never whisper to a soul about it, he reflected if it was truly just a dream or something beyond that, like with the cave.

Facing Sirius was going to be awkward after such dream.

The memory made him blush. As if he would ever do something so audacious with his own brother. No way; what he saw could be a product of his feverish state. Yes, that would most certainly be the case.

His flushed cheeks grew impossibly pink as the unavoidable remembrance took place in his thoughts with more details creeping in. In the dream – the delirium, or so he corrected himself – they looked a little older, and he was hidden once again in his room, all day. Sirius showed up, sat on his bed and touched his hair with such an intimacy that it felt weird, since they never been so close, though it didn’t seemed to be the case for his dream version, completely comfortable in receiving the gesture. Then, after a brief exchange of words, Sirius looked worried and sat closer to him, checking for a fever, and fussing about his sickness. Then, he did something unusually open, that normally, he wouldn’t dare – at least, not in the present, since there’s no room for such displays of intimacy – and asked if Sirius could lay down with him, because he was tired and scared of dreaming. The dream version of Sirius gave him a broad smile and got under the duvet, mimicking his own gesture, facing each other. Then, his older brother’s hand slipped out of the duvet and reached his face, touching him in the cheek, fingers light as feathers. As he approached his face to Regulus’s, the previous smile was undone, replaced to a serious, longing look. Regulus had a funny feeling in his stomach as Sirius’s lips reached his forehead and planted a kiss there, then another on his cheek, and finally his final destination, the lips, and the warm, wet lips against his didn’t feel alien –it felt familiar, like it had happened before.

To his present-self shock, he kissed back eagerly, a sentiment of longing permeating his mind – he craved for it.

But just as he was falling for the feeling righteousness, the sentiment was cut short by his awakening.

There was no way such thing would happen, he thought; such an intimate act should be guarded solely to his future wife, not anyone else, and certainly not to his own brother.

Growing more agitated as the time passed, he got up and stepped out of the bathtub, wrapping himself in a navy blue robe, taking a little too long to finally get it tied.

Going back to his room, he seated on the end of the carefully done bed, glancing at the clock over the fireplace. Still over an hour before breakfast was set. Full hour of wrong thoughts tormenting him.

That day, he caught several times the sight of Sirius throwing curious looks over him, but it was only on the next day, after dinner, that he approached Regulus and leaded him to the younger boy’s room.

“What was that about dying in the dark? Don’t tell me you’re getting looney like cousin Rodolphus?” He asked, last question meant as a jab, followed by a smirk.

“Shut up Sirius, it’s just...I’ve been having dreams. Sometimes, the dreams actually happen – do you remember when I knew you hid Mother’s hair pin? The one with emeralds? I knew because I dreamt about it. Or when I told you there was a bird with a broken wing in the garden and when we found it I said it was going to die and cried? Same. I had a dream, and actually found it much faster because I had previous knowledge of where to look. And the dying part also happened, among other things. Sometimes, I just know.”

For a talkative person with quick answers, Sirius’s sudden lack of response seemed out of character. With an incredulous expression in his eyes, a sharp contrast to his mouth gaped open on credulous surprise, Regulus realized he should continue and give time for his brother to remember how to use his brain and decide to believe him or not. “It started from last couple months, with the headaches. They vary, but the one about me dying inside a cave by the sea keep coming back, in several degrees of details,” pausing briefly to take a seat, he proceeded, “Sometimes, everything is blurry, other times I can perfectly see the images but there is a lack of any sound, most of the times, thought, everything is clear. The time also change, and it can last for shortened periods or show more details by lasting longer. All end with the feeling that I’m about to die.”  
Sirius, to his surprise, must have finally taken his word seriously, because the previous look was substituted with abject horror, stiff body planted in the same place since the beginning of his monologue.

Then, the lost words came back to him. “Wait, so you are a Seer, like granddad?” after Regulus murmured a timid – for the comparison to such an authoritative figure, a complete opposite to himself – "I think so," the older boy continued, “But the future can change with choices- like the bird, you found it faster,” voice growing more exasperated by every word proffered, he finished “So that dream doesn’t have to actually happen, Reg, your not going to die like that.”

To that last sentence, Regulus sighed, feeling dejected and voicing the fear that perpetuated his thoughts for a long time, haunting every cheerful moment, a constant burn in the back of his head, and not allowing himself to absorb any hope – he could never be too careful with such an important matter – “But the bird suffered the same fate in the end. He died, just as I saw. So don’t say I will not end up in that place when we cannot know if it’s avoidable. Besides, it feels like there’s a reason I’m there, like it’s important. Sometimes, in the dream I think about getting something from there, but the thoughts are not very coherent and I still haven’t figured out what it is, or even if there is really something to look for.”

Purpose and fierceness filled Sirius’s eyes.

“Even if we don’t know, doesn’t mean we need to give up. I’m not letting you die without fighting, Regulus Black. I promise you. You’re my little brother, and it is my duty to protect you no matter what."

“I thought you didn’t care for your duties,” was the reply. The little brother bit was pointedly ignored for the sake of peace.

“Well, you’re a special case.”

It wasn’t meant to be flattering, double meaning clear as day, but the blush emerged nonetheless.

After that night, the pair of brothers grew closer, whispering in corners – a clear sight of a mischief being planed - and laughing around the house; Sirius’s loud and spontaneous, Regulus’s shy and controlled. The change didn’t pass unnoticed by Walburga. "You look joyous lately, my boy," she commented on a sunny Sunday, after watching them running around the garden, cupping his small face with soft hands. To Sirius, the usual impassive demeanour was imbued with a touch of something softer, but nowhere near the maternal display of affection retained for the youngest.

The strong headaches continued often, but now they were much less scary and unbearable, thanks to Sirius’s constant presence. The first time they shared a bed – contrary to what Regulus thought after that weird dream, that led him to believe he would initiate such intimacy – was a result of his brother’s own will, clinging to bed, claiming that if he had a nightmare, he could wake him up. Despite the immense anxiety, nothing worthy of the feeling happened.

As time passed, it was getting harder to ignore the butterflies running inside him whenever Sirius’s warm arms embraced him, or touched hair, or planted a chaste kiss on his forehead, or did anything really, like when they went to the library for lessons, sitting by an antiqued mahogany table by the window, and the invading sun illuminated his handsome features. Their parents certainly chose the right name for him, Regulus concluded on a late night stargazing, after both furtively slipped out of bed to go outside, with the hesitant help of Kreacher – who could never resist any of Regulus’s demandings, no matter how tricky they were, not when he pleaded making extra effort in looking through his lashes with big, bright eyes that could melt the cranky elf's heart – laying on the grass, facing up a piece of the universe full of beautiful, luminous points, though London wasn’t the perfect place for it, with it’s foggy nights that paled in comparison to the universe presented at summer nights by the seashore of their beach house. The grandeur of the night sky always fascinated him, who often spend long hours with a sky chart within reach, searching for new patterns, accompanying the constellations through the dark, losing himself into its immensity.

From the piece they spotted from Grimaud Place's garden, there it was Sirius, the brightest star , the first astral body picked by his view, so alike his big brother’s magnetic personality, being the center of attentions whenever he was in the room, being playful and funny, always knowing the charming thing to say -even when they were peppered up with subtle provocations – glowing with charisma, so opposite to his own introversion and shyness and weakness.

A sad antithesis to the star he was named after.

It didn’t matter, though; he wasn’t alone anymore, so he would gladly orbitate the brightest star and stand by his side, fully submerging in Sirius’s promise of protection.

On the next week, Sirius received his Hogwarts letter, a formal reminder of their separation. The older brother was ecstatic, the younger one was crestfallen.  
Regulus locked himself in his room all day after that, pointedly ignoring the knocks on his door.

But his childish tantrum was short lived; in the following day there was a complete turnover in his behaviour, motivated by a simple train of thought: as it wouldn’t be long before Sirius was gone, all the time left was precious and should be relished.

Orion Black was a man of many talents, one of them being his sharp observational skills that paved his way to successful businesses, family matters included, many times, so naturally, despite the short time spent with his sons, it didn’t take long for him to assimilate, among other things, the following facts: firstly, Regulus was accomited by something beyond mere headaches, since on the occasions he had an episode, the following day when he joined the table for breakfast, there was a sense of uneasiness in his gestures and expressions, just a little bit too much to be dismissed as a result of sickness; secondly, judging by the worry Sirius’s perceived his brothers reactions, he was aware of what was happening – and honestly, normally he would dismiss the situation and would let them guard their silly secrets, after all, if anything, it was Walburga who should engage in such matters- but his instincts told him that they were hiding something important, something he should acknowledge.

And following his instincts has yet to end in disappointment.

Talking to Sirius ought to end in frustration. Surely, he could extract any information he deemed to have from the rebellious, loud brat, however the process per se was deemed to involve dealing with aforementioned loudness and absolute lack of respect – not that he couldn’t make him behave, but the easier path would be to question the younger one.

Deciding to leave this matter to be discussed after dinner, he went through the day as any other, and when the time came, Regulus was summoned to his study.

After hearing a weak knocking on his door, Orion called the boy in, gesturing for him to take a seat facing his desk. Gazing down all the way, Regulus did as requested, having yet to face up his father, contemplating sitting down in silence, but deciding against it for the sake of politeness; Father would surely reproach his lack of etiquette.

“Father. May I ask the reason of my summoning?”

Briefly pausing to observe the small, sturdy figure seated in front of him, Orion started with simpler questions. He was too tense; going straight to the point might not be the best approach.

“How are you lessons going?”

“Fairly well, professor Apollodorus applied a test in Runes and Latin last week and I got the nearly all of the answers right – Mother received the results – and we started basic topics in Arithmancy, I’ve had a satisfactory progress so far.

“I suppose congratulations are in order, then.” At that, Regulus expression eased to an almost smile, quicky gone with the next words. “However, keep in mind that, as a Black, nearly doesn’t quite match all. Nonetheless, this is a good start.”

“Thank you Father. I’ll keep the advice in mind.” Came the solemn answer.

“Well see about that when you start your formal education, but I trust you won’t disappoint. Tell me, are you getting any better from your headaches, and are the potions taking proper effect?”

“No, Father, they’re still frequent, but the potions are working.”

Now, instead of the stiff posture from early, Regulus was downright uncomfortable, fidgeting on his chair, clearly wanting to leave.

“I see. I would bring another healer to consult but, to be honest, headaches doesn’t seem to be the sole source of your affliction.”

At the avoiding gaze and silence that followed his implied questioning, he sighed, running a hand through his jet black hair, assuming a more imponent demeanour on his handsome face, a blessed family trait, as he continued.

“Alright, boy, you can start talking. I am asking what is happening aside from the pain. And don’t assume you can lie or omit things from me. You surely won’t like me demanding for information. Don’t force me to it.”

Initially seeming to be nearly panicking, the boy clenched his hands to the sides of the chair; expression then softening to stoic, eyes – identical to Sirius’s and his own’s – turning down to his left in concentration, lips pressing tight.

Regulus, to his surprise, was pondering. Something he never did facing a direct order. Absolute obedience was his standard answer. So, whatever was happening , it indeed was important.

After long seconds, grey met grey; one still impassive, the other, now determined, albeit a little teary.

“I am a Seer, like grandfather Arcturus.”

Reprimanding a scoff – the child's seriousness mismatched his blushing, round with baby fat, cheeks, and the equivalency with his Father’s gift, that often made the man look and speak in sinister ways that used to terrorize Orion seemed absurd – he asked for details.

“Whenever the pain comes, when I sleep, I have...dreams, like visions, about things that actually happen, but so far nothing important, like some of Sirius’s pranks, a bird we found in the garden, that day when Mother left for hours without prior notice – I knew she was with auntie Druella and my cousins. Simple things, basically.”, he finished with a shrug.

“And I am correct in assuming Sirius is aware of your...gift?”

Regulus nodded.

“You are positively sure that those are not mere coincidences?”

“I am. It would be odd to have frequent dreams about things that actually happen after them and just be coincidences. That’d be too much luck.”

Resting his chin on his hand and fixing his gaze to a corner, he absorbed the news. Studying the subject would be necessary; since he was never keen on Divination, his knowledge resumed to memories of his father’s bizarre, possessed-looking demeanour, with his irises going up until all could be seen was white, permeated by thin red and bluish and purplish vessels, lips forming an round form while choking sounds came out and that raspy, several octaves lower than usual, voice making predictions and -oh, that time in his childhood when they were alone in the parlour at night and suddenly father had a vision and in the middle of it he gave a smile with too many teeth, that made his skin crawl – _never_ _mind_. Perhaps a visit was due.

“As you mentioned, your Grandfather is also a Seer. Do you wish to pay him a visit to discuss the matter?”

“I don’t think that would be necessary, is not a big deal yet. In case it’s needed, I can owl Grandfather. As of now, I do not wish to bother him, especially since nothing of relevance came out.” Naturally, the fact that Grandfather Arcturus scared him at times was politely left out unspoken.

“Alright. For the time being, there’s some books on the subject in the library. You should study the subject.” Getting up and glancing at a big, ornamented clock over the fireplace, Orion proceeded to dismiss him. “I think that settle our conversation. You should go to bed.”

Mirroring his gestures, Regulus was on his feet, promptly leaving after a brief, stiff exchange of good nights.

The boy left a piece of the puzzle out; had chosen what he wanted to reveal. Sirius’s looks at the table possibly means he knows the full story. It could just be worry over Regulus's health state, but again, seems a bit too much, just like the youngest uneasiness.

No need to hurry. He had time to get to the bottom of this. All he wanted, for the time being, was a good night of sleep.

Of course, only after submitting to the always present curiosity of his wife regarding any interaction with the children.He didn't know why bother with privacy charms; Walburga was bound to not let him rest until every detail was meticulously narrated.

On the night before the fateful day of Sirius’s departure to Hogwarts, Regulus had another dream.

Opening his eyes, gasping, he lifted himself up to a sitting position, turning to the side to wake Sirius, his hand, up in the air intending to shake his big brother’s shoulder,hesitated for a second; lie down before him was the figure of his brother illuminated by strings of moonlight, due to his habit of leaving the curtains open at night - a product of his fear of the dark – silky black hair falling down on his pale face in a beautiful mess, rose coloured lips slightly parted and seeming so terribly soft, subtle movements on the duvets disclosing his peaceful breathing, one hand coming out of it slightly fisted – and with trembling fingers he fought the urge to touch the perfect curves of his face, reaching his originally intended destination, the shoulder, shaking it delicately, murmuring the name of the one who made him feel warm in so many occasions.

“Reggie?”, he started, lazily opening his eyes, voice a little hoarse from sleep, ”did you have a bad dream?”

And, remembering what awoken him, Regulus skipped explanations and went straight to the core of his newest concern.

“Please, promise me you won’t forget me when you go to Hogwarts”

“Where did that came from?”

“Please”

“Alright.” After moving to a sitting position, he conceived the younger boy’s wish, locking gazes and putting his right hand on chest, aiming for the heart, in all seriousness an eleven years old boy could muster, in a comically pompous proclamation. “Regulus Arcturus Black, I, Sirius Orion Black, swear not to forget you when I leave for Hogwarts, nor ever. Now, will you please tell me what’s the matter?”

“Fine. I had a dream, there you had many friends in Hogwarts and you completely ditched me off. You left me alone, Siri.”  
Crossing his arms, feeling the heat on his cheeks from embarrassment, the eye contact was broken in favor of looking away to the window. There was another detail, but he decided to leave it out, since Sirius would probably try to make everything for such thing to happen. If Sirius really ended up a gryffindor, Mother would definitely have a fit.

Besides, he would have those friends of his, and avoid him. He would be replaced.

Maybe he should be offended at the prospect, but he couldn’t deny he wasn’t much fun to spend time with, so maybe if he did make an effort to be a better, funnier brother, Siri wouldn’t go for that obnoxious boy who wears glasses and cast him aside.

He let out a hopeless sigh, only then noticing he was being watched. Sirius had a frown between his brows, a common sight whenever he was concentrated. Perhaps his older brother was a little more perceptive than he judged. Or maybe it was just himself being too obvious.

“Reg, I mean it, I won’t forget you, I couldn’t. I just promised, didn’t I? We’re bounded together from the moment you whispered your darkest secret to me.” Those words were unusually deep coming from Sirius, enough to calm a bit of his uneasiness.

“Okay. But you have to write at least once a week.” Then, after Sirius’s acquiescement, struck by an unbearable heaviness, he yawned, deciding to conclude this conversation.

“It’s late, and tomorrow will be a busy day. Let’s go back to sleep.”

Under Sirius’s persisting stare, he lied down, looking up to meet his brother’s gaze once again. He really should learn how to read it, there was something else aside from preoccupation storming through those eyes, something he couldn’t figure out. It sent a shiver down his spine; he couldn’t figure out if it was for fear or anticipation for something he wasn’t quite aware of, yet – or so he liked to pretend. Finally closing his eyes, the shifting sounds of Sirius going back down to cover himself, there it was, filling the silence with a final, most meaningful sentence, tightening the knot of their newly discovered bound.

“Love you, Reg.”

Reglus slept a little more peacefully that night.

Walburga watched Sirius’s departure with something heavy on her chest, the same feeling from when she took her sons to Diagon Alley two weeks prior, pacing all afternoon through the stores to get school supplies. Maintaining the same – hopefully neutral and dignified – expression all morning, she watched Regulus’s tear stained face with worry.

He still hadn’t come to her with his secret, as Orion told her. Why was he hiding things from his own mother? Maybe she has been too soft with him. Merlin knows all her energy was lately spent scolding that petulant brother of his. Orion moved on her side, turning to his left, exchanging last words with Cygnus and Druella, who accompanied their daughters to the platform. Posing her hand on Regulus, whose eyes were still staring at the same direction Hogwarts Express was placed moments ago, dangerously red and glassy, likely to burst in tears again if he didn’t control himself, she called him back to Grimmauld Place.

Immediately after stepping inside, he practically ran upstairs to his room, closing the door quite abruptly. This child ought to be disciplined, before he turns rebellious like his brother.

After a light lunch, she spent a good part of the afternoon in the conservatory, answering letters and planning their dinner courses, until interrupted by the elf.

“Mistress, forgive the interruption. Master Regulus is with fever. He didn’t sent Kreacher, but Kreacher think Mistress might want to be informed.” It’s distress was palpable; Kreacher would most likely smash his head against any hard surface soon enough for interrupting his mistress and delivering non-ordered information. Before it happened, she harshly gave her orders while walking out of the room to her potions cabinet.

“Go to the kitchens, find something light for him to eat, and wait for me outside his room."

When she reached Regulus’s door knob, small pained grunts could be heard. Opening the door carefully, she faced his son asleep, chest down on the silk sheets, head turned to the opposite side from the door, messy hair spreaded all over his face. A wet area circulating the collar of his gown and damping his hair; he surely was feverish.

Going closer to the bed, curiosity filling in, a few distinguished words came out of a combination of half words and grunts. Kreacher, make me and locket were the only of the lot barely distinguishable. After Regulus started panting and moving his legs in short but frantic motions, the mother got closer enough to shake him awake, freeing him from whatever was tormenting him. With a final, heavy exhalation, the convulsion of his legs stopping altogether, his eyes opened and revealed an alarmed expression.

“Mother,” came the inquisition, in a breathless and disoriented tone.

“I was informed you were feverish. I brought you your potions. There’s also some fruit , since you can’t take them on an empty stomach.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Taking the tray to the bed, she contemplated questioning him, having the unsettling realization that whatever scared her boy, it could be a product of his gift. Ignoring the pang in her chest, and sending Kreacher to prepare a bath, she watched as Regulus eaten roughly a quarter of the fruit, with slow movements and tense shoulders. Waiting for the potion to make effect, she went to his wardrobe, picking comfortable robes, carefully placing them on the bed before taking the child to the bathroom.

He seemed uncomfortable, but didn’t say anything as he hesitantly undressed and entered the warm water. Kneeling down to wash his hair, she struggled to find a way to start asking, pausing briefly to reach her wand, casting the colovaria charm to turn the bubbles multicoloured. No matter how much he tried to hide in a blank façade and pretend being nine years old was too grown up for this, it was always shining all over his eyes that he secretly loved the explosion of colours. This time, it turned out not to make much of a difference to enlighten his demeanour, though; he kept somber, lost in thought. Cleaning his scalp with firm, experienced hands, Walburga finally addressed the problem.

“What were you dreaming about when I woke you? Seemed rather intense.”

“Just a bad dream, nothing important,” he dismissed, as if it didn’t bothered him at all.

“Still. I believe I made you a question.”

A sigh.

“Well, it was about me being in a dark cave, and there were...things hiding there. Just a silly dream.”

She arched a brow, pausing the task and moving to face him; It wasn’t of his nature to deviate from her questions. “Really, it did sound a little more elaborate than that, judging by your murmurs. What about Kreacher, and a locket, I believe you mentioned?"

At that, a brief confusion spreaded to his face, then his eyes opened like he was hit by realization, quickly hidden in favour of a neutral look. He was his father’s son, after all.

“Yes, Kreacher was accompanying me, and I found a locket there, but it was nothing special,” he explained, turning his eyes away when talking about the locket.

He was displaying clear signs of anxiety – left hand clenching at the bathtub border, avoiding her gaze, knees shaking very slightly, a sign of his little toes taping at the bottom – but she was adamant about getting the truth.

Wishing for no more delaying, Walburga opted for direct confrontation.

“Your father spoke to me. You are a Seer”, she pointed.

Regulus then averted his head to face her, passively waiting. “I cannot express how much you disappointed me, Regulus Arcturus. How dare you occult such thing from you own mother?” Fighting to keep her tone even and not raise her voice, her iron stare did the work.

“I’m sorry, Mother," was the answer, almost a whisper, timid and vulnerable.

“I may accept your apology after you explain yourself,” she retorted, as stoically as she could. At the following lack of response, she, in a rather harsh manner, lifted her arm, intending to reach her forehead in an act of frustration; however, said act was stopped midway by Regulus’s sudden reaction. Head lowered down and placed on his bent knees, the boy lifted his thin arms over his head, shielding himself from – what he probably thought the gesture meant – impending physical menace.

Gasping, Walburga retracted and observed the small, trembling figure in shock.

“Regulus, what are you doing?” Was what came out after a momentary lapse on her vocabulary.

A torrent of supplicating commitments flowed “Please, Mother, don’t,” – the implicit words loud in her head – “I’ll be a good son, I’ll tell everything from now on, and I won’t disobey."

His pleadings cut through her ears in a unsettling manner. Why would he assume I’d do such thing? I never laid a hand against him.

Still, she could probably take the opportunity and finally get to the full story. But the idea settled in heavily in the back of her head.

Briefly looking back at the closed door, she whispered to him to be calm, so very slowly, and settled a hand on his head, wondering what she should say to evoke a sense of security.

Then, tired of deliberations, she pulled his wet, soaped torso against her chest, pushing his head lightly against her shoulder, the contact allowing the feeling of his heart’s erratic beats, eventually going back to it’s right rhythm. Unbeknownst to her, from her dampened dark green dress, the boy could hear the loud, initially rapid thumps against his ear, guiding his own down with time in synchrony.

Dinner courses had his favourite dishes, and the small piece of chocolate cake he was granted after sweetened out his previous distressed in the bathroom, setting a contentment the even eased out the apprehension of a brief interaction with his Father, who clearly noticed he didn’t gave the full story and was intending to acquire more information about his Sight.

Just as he finished, a sudden thought of Sirius turned the taste bittersweet.

Grabbing a white rose from the magically extended garden, he seated by a small, white table inside the gazebo, answering Sirius’s letter and deliberately avoiding entering the house. After the fiasco of his brother’s sorting on Gryffindor, Mother spent her days vilifying him, accusing him of disloyalty and lack of gratefulness and so on. With slight guilt, he pondered about how after the disaster his Father hinted less and less about him hiding something. His parents would do anything to stop him meeting his fate, he knew, but this was something he ought to choose on his own. Now he had another clue, the existence of a locket, possibly his goal inside that vile place. Though in a very slow pace, things were starting to make sense.

Between stargazing, studying, sending letters to Sirius, avoiding his parents and suffering debilitating pain on occasion, there wasn’t much else to do. But soon enough, the perspective of Christmas break came, making his body tingle when he counted the days until he went back at the platform to meet his beloved brother again.

Christmas break came; All Sirius talked about was his stupid friends.

His favourite festivities of the year didn’t seem all that joyful anymore. Of course Sirius made friends and had fun while he spent his days sulking from absence. Admittedly, it was silly of him, and he should have resigned to what he saw as fate. That little flame, from when he believed Sirius’s lie that he wouldn’t forget him, extinguished quietly at the first by the – spoken about in an over excited way, and frankly overrated – stories about James Potter and his cronies. But then, just like that last night before leaving, Sirius went to his bedroom to sleep by his side, proclaiming the very same words, looping all his feelings back, and the flame lightened up again, turning into fire and consuming him, letting he know he was hopeless without the shining presence of Sirius.

Second year went similarly.

Aside from breaks, when he was blessed by Sirius’s presence, although it was unpleasant how he still talked too much of his friends, his days were an endless repetitions of tasks, with the occasional glimpse of life that came through his brother’s letters – and the contentment at the arrival of his own Hogwarts letter.

Forever passed, and finally, at least, he was going to say his goodbyes together with Sirius. No more tearing up under the soft kisses his brother planted on his temples and forehead at the privacy of his room on the nights before going away.

Falling out of the endless cycle would be a breath of fresh air. Bonding would much easier when Sirius was physically reachable.

But he soon realized reality wasn’t so honeyed. On the train, following his big brother, he could feel the tensing on his back when he paused in front of a cabin. Bending to the side to spot who was inside, he saw two boys: a chubby one, near the door and, at his side, by the window, another with a wide grin and round glasses. Judging by descriptions as well as the look of recognition, that must be Potter, who for sure wasn’t the cause of Sirius’s sudden tension. That would be him.

Not wanting to face rejection, he decided it would be better to facilitate things. Putting on a neutral expression, as Sirius turned back to him, he gave a small smile, hoping it wouldn’t falter, and said he would try to find other first years and walked past him.

He found an empty cabin, seated by the window and stared the view. Eventually, a group of third year friends joined, and after a small set of questions directed at him, answered in monosyllabic words and general apathetic demeanour, they mostly left him alone.

Apprehension hit hard. How would Sirius react to his most certain sorting to Slytherin? Of course, it shouldn’t come with surprise – after all, Sirius was the one and only Black not sorted in Salazar Slytherin’s house – but was it going to be an impending fracture in their already clouded by distance relationship?

Probity and sorrow clashed continuously in his mind, but after the ragged hat loudly proclaimed at the top of his head what was expected all along, glancing at the Gryffindor table, he found his solace in Sirius’s gentle smile. He fulfilled his duty and didn’t upset his brother. With that last, content thought, he slept like a feather in his first night at Slytherin dormitory.

But the issue of the episode on Hogwarts Express persisted as days passed – Sirius avoided him whenever his friends were around, and, by observing their behaviour in public, the attacks they inflicted against Severus Snape as well as the students they associated with, it stuck him how different his big brother was now. Of course, it was always clear that he was quite special, but the nature of it, passed unnoticed until the sudden realization. It stung that Sirius was dividing his life in two sections, and he belonged to the unfavourable one, the walking remembrance that back at home, there was a family with principles he loathed. But blood prevails all, and Sirius belongs to The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, no matter how much he fought against it by associating with half-bloods and making stupid pranks against the Slytherins.

Despite being an introvert to the core, he managed to make a few acquaintances, the closest to a friend was Bartemius, or, as he preferred, Barty.

Barty was loud, extremely intelligent from what he could gather, and honestly a little too loose, talking and acting in less than proper ways sometimes. For example, the older boy customarily escorted him to his classes, despite being a year above him, and being a Crouch – and a prodigious student – alleviated the scolds he got for sometimes getting late to his own classes, a matter that he spoke about in a dismissive way, also the touches on his arms and back, always firm and demanding, when he wanted to pull him somewhere else. Although being dragged and bossed around was not very pleasant, Barty’s company was not bad overall.

One day, while walking around the lake, the eccentric boy grabbed him strongly by the wrist to go closer to what seemed like a glimpse of the giant squid, he gasped and looked around, because honestly, how could Barty do such things in public? And there he was, with his loud friends, as distinguished and charming and dismissively elegant looking straight to him. Sirius.

Clear as the solar day over their heads, was his rage. Feeling strangely fulfilled by the look, he considered going to talk to him, but as soon as the idea came, it was undone by the sight of Sirius turning around to talk to his dear friends as if nothing happened.

Later in the day, he found a note sticking out of his potions book.

_Meet me at the boy’s bathroom on the second floor at dinner._

It wasn’t signed, but he could recognize that beautiful calligraphy – another sign of what having pristine bloodline conveyed – anytime. His brother finally decided to seek him out.

The hours couldn’t pass fast enough; he waited anxiously in the library, trying to focus on his reading, fruitlessly.

Finally the time came, and Regulus, first leaving his books in his dorm, furtively passed through some of his acquaintances, who were chatting in the corridors of the dungeons and walking to the great hall. He struggled with the changing stairs all crowded and moving around to path big masses of students for dinner. Arriving on second floor, he noticed there were few students walking around, mostly six and seventh years, it seemed, until he reached the door he was looking for. Entering, he observed the bathroom, him aside, was empty; most students were probably already on the Great Hall. After roughly twenty minutes of wait, Sirius arrived panting a little.

“Sorry about the waiting, but Remus and James weren’t leaving me alone,” he justified, and the connotation that Sirius was hiding this from his friends was not coming as a surprise. Not like he did have much room to talk, having done the same.

“No worries, I didn’t wait for long.”

“Oh, good.”

After a small moment of silence, Sirius spoke again. “So, how’s everything going? Are you doing well in classes?”

“It’s all alright, classes so far had nothing too complicated. But how about you, I heard you had a disagreement with Snape yesterday, are you alright?” To classify it as a disagreement, a fight that sent both involved to the Hospital Wing, was an understatement, but Regulus knew Sirius would diminish the gravity of it anyway.

“Oh, that, don’t worry, just a little fight. Mother sent a lovely howler, I got detention, and that was it. Totally worth putting Snivy back to his place"

An arch on one of his brows were the only answer.

“Don’t give me that look, I know you couldn’t care less for someone like him,” making a sour face at the mention, he continued, “and I’m not actually perfect, despite my looks, I need to release some stress, and that guy sure knows how to provoked me. He had it coming, Reg, It’s not like I’m randomly attacking innocent people.”

“Yeah, sure, you have a very mature way to deal with stress and to respond to provocations."

“Hey,” he started, giving the younger boy a playful shove on his shoulder, “everybody reacts in their on way. I’m thirteen, I don’t need to be mature,” he shrugged, “ anyway, I saw your little friend grabbing you earlier. What was that?” He asked, previous playfulness in tone gone.

“Nothing, just Barty being annoying.”

“Really? Is this something he does often?”

“Yes, well, he does have a habit of dragging me around, which is annoying, but it’s just his personality, I guess, it happens when he’s too excited.”

“I see. But tell me, Reggie, is grabbing you by the wrist is all he does?”

“Sorry?" he queried, arching a brow a second time. Honestly, Sirius had the most preposterous ideas sometimes.

“I mean, did he hurt you with this grabbing thing or touched you in a different way?”

“No, Sirius, he wouldn’t, and would you please clarify what you meant by different?” He pushed, feeling a little outraged by the implication.

At that, Sirius moved slowly, to close the distance, and Regulus felt tingles in his stomach, not moving an inch, resisting the sudden urge to step back. “I meant,” he said, voice a little husky, locking his gaze with Regulus’s, placing hands on the smaller boy’s shoulders, pressing him to step back until the wall behind them was reached, and placing a hand at the side of the now wide-eyed boy, head going down until his lips were nearly touching the side of the thin, pale neck, a few visible blue lines underneath contrasting with the glow of fair skin under the weak, trembling lights bathing them from behind, projecting shadows on Sirius’s face and one side of Regulus’s figure, but fully illuminating the angelic face, the flush on his round cheeks and the eyelids closing in fear and expectation, “Like this,” Sirius explained, closing the small distance with a brief kiss on the neck, “Or this,” now planting the kiss on the chin, just beneath the ascending curve to Regulus’s closed lips.

The moment was cut short by the turn of the smaller boy’s head, in denial.

“Sirius, what are you doing? We must not-”

“Must not what? I was merely showing what I meant.”

“I’m not so gullible as to believe that, Sirius, you shouldn’t touch me like that.”

“Why? Didn’t you like it?”

“That's not the problem, but it’s not proper and you know it.”

Running a hand through his hair, Sirius sighed.

“Can’t say you are wrong.”

With a sense of pride for being the rational one, Regulus wondered how could the proper thing to do feel like a hassle, despite his previous fear.

Taking a couple steps back and looking at the door, Sirius seemed about to leave, silent and dejected, but before he did, Regulus heard a last set of words that, although dubious in morality, reached him in a rather pleasant way - the wrong one.

“But Reggie, when did I give a damn about what’s proper?”

Several days after, at the library, one of Sirius’s friends, the scarred one, handed a small envelope to him.

“Sirius sent you this,” he started, “He said your mother mistook the envelopes – I’m Remus, Remus Lupin by the way, don’t think we’ve been introduced before.” He finished with a slight blush.

“Regulus. Pleasure to meet you. Why didn’t Sirius came to deliver me himself, may I ask?”

Remus Lupin was, contrasting with the harsh lines crossing his face, the most gentle and soft spoken of the bunch; the closest Regulus came to respecting, but apparently, the same couldn’t be said by Sirius. That calligraphy didn’t belong to Mother, he noticed. And it was Sunday – a Hogsmeade weekend by the way – so whatever Sirius and James were doing , couldn’t be anything important enough to ditch Remus out and use him as an owl.

Looking away at a shelf full of Divination books, he explained, slight resentment for coming out subtly at his words. “He and James have some errands to do.”

“I see. Well, thank you for bringing my correspondence, Remus,” he said, giving a polite smile.

After a final shy and awkward exchange of “See you around,” Regulus waited until there was no one around to open the envelope.

 _My dearest,_  
 _I'll be waiting behind greenhouse 7 by 6 o’clock._  
 _Don’t be late._  
 _Yours,_  
 _S_.

Arriving just in time, succeeding in avoiding Barty after a near clash in the corridors, he was surprised by Sirius’s punctuality. The sunset lights were dimmed enough by the dark showing it’s first signs, and there was a fresh autumn breeze floating around.

“Hey reggie,” he greeted, a wild grin plastered on his face, something square poking out of his robes.

“Hi,” Regulus modestly replied.

“I went to Hogsmeade yesterday, and guess what? I brought us something to share,” he announced excitedly while putting the square box out.

It turned out to be a box with small delicacies from Honeydukes. It looked expensive and delectable, and he recognized some of his favourite sweets among the selection of petit fours.

Unconsciously opening a delighted smile, mouth watering from antecipation, he seated alongside Sirius, back against the dusted glass wall of the greenhouse, and began picking the most tempting looking ones.

Not caring the least to the fact that he was rotting his appetite for dinner – Mother would surely be displeased by such behaviour – he pulled a chocolate truffle topped with little golden stars, giving it a small bite, surprised by the honey filling, which resulted in a small, round and translucent glowy spot on his lower lip. He reached for his pocket to pick his handkerchief and clean it, but before he had the chance, Sirius’s warm finger was brushed against his lip, the wandering thumb sliding around slowly. Too flustered to look at his brother, Regulus could easily trust his audition to guess the spilled honey's destination when Sirius muttered “So good,” and, not knowing how to proceed before such bold, shameless behaviour, so dangerously close to that night on the boy’s bathroom, he resumed eating as if nothing happened – or tried to, with his thundering heartbeat and clumsy hands.

Focused, or so it seemed, on the delicacies before them, they ate in silence for a long while; when the darkness settled in and both were satisfied, Regulus settled the box aside, and Sirius touched on the subject that, although was what brought them together, wasn’t spoken about in a long time – the dreams.

“So, how’s going your Divination thing? Are you having bad dreams lately?”

“Not bad, after those first months they drastically diminished, I think it’s relatively common to react strongly at first, but things started getting better. Less dreams, and the headaches are only sporadic now, it doesn’t even come every time I See something, anymore.”

“That’s good, but what do you do when you have them? Do you go to madam Pomfrey?”

“Yes, Mother offered to send me vials, but they have them on the hospital wing.”

“I see. And Reggie, I didn’t forget my promises, so you can come talk to me when you have problems, you know? No need to avoid my friends. Sure, you must have notice that there are some different views, but if you can remain respectful, I see no problem, and when you have those headaches, I’d like to know, so if I’m not on class I can keep you company. I can be sneaky, Madam Pomfrey has no chances in keeping me out.” At the last statement, he blinked in such a charming way that Regulus felt weak on his legs.

“Well, as long as your friends don’t target me with their pranks and mockeries, I don’t have a problem with them,” and, lowering his eyes to the grass, voice now a bit hesitant, he continued, “it’s–it’s just that you didn’t seem very favourable to the idea, so I followed along with what you wanted. And yes, I’ll send word to you next time I go to the Hospital Wing, it’s so boring there, so maybe you do can keep me company.” Then, he added with a smirk, “Or entertain me while being expelled by Madam Pomfrey.”

“They wouldn’t – they know I’d hex the sass out of them,” he stated with a grave tone, “Oh, and I guarantee you, there’s no staff or student in this castle capable of getting the upper hand over my sneaking in abilities, Madam Pomfrey included.”

“Sure,” he answered as a mockery, choosing not to comment on the display of seriousness – over him, nonetheless – that sent a warmth inside his ribcage. Sirius had an extraordinary ability of making him feel things over the smallest matters.

“You doubt me?” The older boy asked, a smirk showing up on the corners of his mouth.

“Me? I’d never.” It had the same tone, said with an falsely exasperated face.

“Regulus Black, are you challenging me?”

“Perhaps I am.”

“Prepare yourself then, ‘cause I’ll prove the truthfulness of my abilities when you least expect.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“It’s settled then. But what do I gain if I win?”

“I don’t know, what do you want?”

“Let’s just settle that if I win, you have to grant me a wish.”

Sirius had such confidence in his words and expressions that it should be obvious he was setting a trap, but Regulus willingly fell to it nonetheless, charmed by his brother’s cheerful demeanour, and by their proximity – a comfort which lately he was not conceded with much; but how could he, in all his solitary and mild existence, deny any merriment to the sole person, aside from fragile moments with Mother, to show him fondness and protection regardless of the fact that he had nothing to offer in return?

Several weeks had passed; Regulus often found short notes, generally setting a place to meet, and small gifts with no cards, mostly sweets from Honeydukes and white roses – his favourite flowers – that reminded him of home, which rendered some teasing from Barty, who Regulus led to believe were from an anonymous source, or secret admirer, like his company called.

How did his brother accomplished such things without being spotted remained a mystery, only to be unveiled much later, near Christmas break.

Entering his dormitory after dinner, while his roommates were still at the Great Hall, Regulus grabbed his pyjamas and went to the bathroom to change. Coming out and gathering some books and quills for next day classes, he felt a blow of hot air hitting the back of his neck, sending a shiver through his spine, making him look frantically around, founding himself, apparently, alone. Taking a deep breath and grabbing parchment and a quill, he seated on his bed – still giving apprehensive glances around the room – and settled to start writing a letter, despite the eerie, unsettling atmosphere surrounding him. Then, listening his bed making a crack sound, he snapped his head to look at a marked, rounded area near the end, like some invisible figure was sitting on it, and froze in fear, eyes opening wide and heart beating impossibly fast, voice trapped inside his throat, for a small eternity, until he heard a burst of laughter, a sound very familiar to him.

“Sirius, is that you?” He asked, still a bit uncertain.

“Yup, what gave it away?” Sirius answered, sounding amused, removing a thick cloak and finally revealing himself.

The smug look added fire to the outrage he was feeling, and for the first time, Regulus wanted to punch that look out of Sirius face.

“Oh, I’m not sure, maybe those outrageous barks you call laughter.” He answered aggressively, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Come on, Reggie, don’t tell me you’re mad. I was just playing around, didn’t scare you too much, did I?"

“No, and If you’re quite done, you can get out of my room. This is Slytherin dormitory, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, please, I came over to see you, risking getting in trouble, and this is how you welcome your big brother?”

“You are not welcome, now get out.” Setting his letter and quill to the nightstand, he moved to stand up and grabbed Sirius by the upper arms, trying to pull him out of bed; his small, delicate frame wasn’t much help strength wise, for the older boy barely moved. With an indignant scoff, he turned his back to him, crossing arms once again.

“Don’t be such a child,” Sirius said, standing up, “I’m sorry, alright? It was a stupid prank, won’t do it again.” He finished, reaching for the younger boy, turning him around with a firm grip, and setting him into a hug, patting him lightly on the back.

“Fine, but don’t do it again,” came the murmured retort, warm breath against Sirius's chest. Regulus was hopeless in being mad at his brother. Whenever they had fights, he could never last long in his snaps and silent treatments, being always one to forgive and forget quickly at the first signs of regret from Sirius’s part.

“Alright – Hey, come to sit with me, I’ll show you something cool. Don’t you want to know how I managed to sneak in?”

Oh, the bet. Some time has passed since, and it slipped off of Regulus’s mind.

Curiosity setting in once he looked at the cape placed on his bad, he sat beside Sirius and pulled the cloak from his brother’s hands, examining it thoroughly, watching his arms disappearing below the dirty fabric when he flipped the outer side. Standing up, amazed, he wore it, leaving only his head uncovered, looking down and gasping at the sight of the illusion of his disappeared body under the transparency below.

“Cool, isn’t it? I’d let you borrow it, but it belongs to someone else.” Sirius stated, looking amused.

“It’s James Potter’s, isn’t it?”

“It is. How did you figured it out?”

“Please. It seems precious and rare, so I doubt you could get your hands on this without our parents help – and they surely wouldn’t be naive enough to aid you in putting your hands on something like this – those other boys don’t seem to come from...resourceful families, Potter being the exception. He is rich and a pureblood, or so I heard, so it most likely belongs to him.”

“Excellent deductive skills, Reggie. Now, I believe I have a prize to collect.”

Sighing, Regulus returned to sit and turned head to face Sirius.

“So, what do you want?” He asked, getting fidgety over the prospect of Sirius choosing something embarrassing. He could only hope for it to be something not particularly hard or bound to get him in trouble, neither something to do in public.

The moment was cut short. Before Sirius could say anything, they heard steps and the sound of indistinct conversation getting closer; Regulus watched him getting up, grabbing the cloak and and muttering “later, help me out," covering himself just in time the door was opened. His roommates entered, and, to assist Sirius, after a short greeting, he opened the door and walked, thankfully not noticing any acquaintance along the way, a little tension on his shoulders, until he reached Slytherin Common Room entrance, opening it. A ghost of a touch in his hand denounced his brother’s successful exiting.

In the following day, he found another note slipped into his belongings.

_I’ll tell you my wish when we get home for Twelvetide._

_Don’t fret over it, I promise it’s nothing too embarrassing, and actually, you’ll find it quite enjoyable._

_Yours_ ,  
 _S._

_P.S: I don’t think I need to tell you, but here it goes - don’t tell anyone about our little secret. Not even to the original keeper._

Oh, so Sirius was hiding from Potter that he revealed his dirty little secret - that cloak for sure was a great tool for their mischievings. Regulus dwelled on what could be the implications; did Sirius, in his cocky arrogance, simply not care enough to break his best friend’s trust over something that’d remain a secret anyway, because of course his brother knew he would never dare to spill his secrets - and, in this case, he had yet to exchange words with Potter, so obviously no secrets would be told between them - or did the prospect of whatever he was going to gain from it, by winning a bet outweighed Potter’s trust? Was it carelessness, selfishness or something entirely different that has yet to cross his mind?

  
Sirius’s intentions remained a mystery, for he was interrupted by Barty, who earlier had promise to help him with his Charms assignment.

The night before taking the Hogwarts Express to go home, when he was eating at the Great Hall, a sudden, sharp pain started at the back of his head, spreading to his whole skull in less than a minute, a clear sign another dream was coming. Pondering if he should tell Sirius, he looked behind at the Gryffindor table, finding his brother’s smiling face talking and gesticulating excitedly with his friends –probably, he was talking about some of their infamous pranks. He and Potter were the centre of everyone’s attention among their group, as well as the students surrounding them, who openly stared or gave furtive glances once in a while, clearly attentive to their words. Remus Lupin's head turned in his direction, a knowing look in the brown eyes, as if he knew, before looking, that Regulus was watching, but after a quick moment, he turned back to his friends.

Deciding not to impose, the Slytherin boy wandered back to the corridors – after dispensing Barty's insistent offer to accompany him – wondering if he should go to Madam Pomfrey or just go to bed and hope it doesn’t last long.

Not long after, a familiar sense of feebleness took over him, and, with trembling legs, reaching for support on the stone walls for a little while, it became clear that he didn’t have much of a choice but go to the Hospital Wing, after all.

It have been so long since the last episode that it felt like his built tolerance for the pain, dizziness and overall discomfort, was gone. Dejected, he started walking again, taking slow steps.

At the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey, who was familiarized with his afflictions, was quick to check for a fever and collect the potions he needed, gesticulating for him to lay down. The bitter, followed by the sweet tasting potions seemed harsher inside his stomach, possibly for the same reason of his now extinguished pain tolerance. A slim, pale hand was pressed on his firmly sealed lips to suppress a wave of nausea. Feeling uneasy by the pain and the fear of sleep creeping in, he moved to face the wall, staying quiet while the school’s Healer wandered about, checking a Hufflepuff boy, the only patient besides him, and talking about leaving him back to his dorm. Muffled sons of covers followed, and soon after, by the low-toned brief words of gratitude, steps, and the closing door, he deduced to be the only remaining patient.

Thinking about the following day, and what gifts he should get for each one of his family - and something edible to slip in Kreacher’s cupboard; he wished to be able to give something other than food, but couldn't risk Mother finding, for he would be under her wrath for gifting an elf - Madam Pomfrey’s got closer to his bed, and after a brief checking, she left him to rest; as the thoughts about Christmas celebrations returned, a crack on the door, being opened slowly could be heard. There was no hand pushing it, and no person coming in, but as it was being closed, a modest curve formed on the corners of his lips; the executor of the action couldn’t be mistaken.

“Siri,” he exclaimed, showing a bit more excitement that he intended to.

Taking of the invisibility cloak, Sirius walked to the bed, same boyish,charming grin accentuating his blessed features.

“Hey, Reg.”

“What are you doing here? How did you know?”

“I’m here to take care of my little brother, and to the second question, Remus saw you leaving looking a little sick.”

Gesturing for him to move out to give more space, he sat down, taking off his shoes and raising his legs, next to Regulus’s, under the covers, cloak carefully placed at his side.

“How are you feeling?”

“I took potions, so better now.”

Sirius hummed in response. The chilling air whispering outside in conjunction with their own unpaired breaths were the only sounds of the room, and while Regulus struggled to find a topic of conversation, despite Sirius’s peaceful demeanour - an indication that he was comfortable with the silence - when he opened his mouth to mention festivities, a yawn came out instead, to his embarrassment.

“Time to sleep, Reggie, don’t want to miss the train tomorrow, do you? I’ll stay a little longer, Madam Pomfrey will most likely only come back in the morning.” He stated, sliding down under the covers. “Sweet dreams, little brother.”

And, under the comfort of Sirius’s hand sliding smoothly through his hair, he dozed off.

Waking up next morning, Sirius’s presence and warmth absent, Regulus wondered if his brother was still there when he had the Sight. He hoped not, since that frightful day with Mother, he was well aware of the fact that he talked in his sleep. Last night’s nightmare was another thing he wasn’t willing to share, and he hoped not to be pushed.

It was brief, but so chaotically painful; there, the mere process of breathing was too strenuous, as if the air itself suddenly decided to refuse to enter his nostrils and fill his lungs, to abandon him, just like Sirius, in the nightmare. The closest he felt to feeling so bad was at the cave, but physical pain and the grasp of imminent Death were too diferent to compare. Feeling a prickle of tears behind his eyelids, he rubbed the back of his hands rather violently against them.

After boarding Hogwarts Express, he passed through Sirius’s cabin, but, as expected, his friends were there too. Despite Sirius’s offer at the back of the greenhouse, he didn’t feel ready to interaction – at least, not with all of them at once. So he seated with Barty, who seemed strangely apathetic, despite going home.

Going back home was a breath of fresh air. Hogwarts could never replace the comforts and sense of belonging that only going back to the place he's been brought to the world could provide, and on his favourite time of the year, Twelvetide, nonetheless. He was aware most families didn’t honour the ancient tradition anymore and their festivities were cut much shorter, a mere fragment of the gradiosity of the twelve days of Christmas. He could almost pity them, really; no other time of the year was as joyous, with so many special details that it felt like magic was swirling in the air all the time, its presence stronger than usual, evolving itself on the ornaments of the Christmas tree, on the flavours and smells of exclusive menus for the occasion, on the colour schemes, on the games they engaged in, the mountain of presents surrounding the tree day after day, like skilfully crafted pieces of a fantasy novel – it didn’t feel quite real.

Because it was a tradition that only lived among a few pureblood families, it felt like a privilege to take part of something so exclusive and unique, a hidden gift, presented only to the ones born into the right circumstances.

The Black family's festivities left nothing to be desired; all twelve days of Christmas were celebrated with family soirees, alternating between houses – always starting and finishing on the manor house of the main branch, Grimmauld Place – with sumptuous banquets.

A day before celebrations started, domestic elves from the other houses arrived. It was tradition – house elves were generously sent each day to the house were the soiree was being hosted, a gest of family union, to aid on preparations. He and Sirius settled at the drawing room with several boxes brought from the attic to begin decorating their christmas tree, one of Regulus’s favourite moments.

Picking up a crystal angel, made with elf magic, watching absentmindedly the glimpses of multiple colours twinkling inside like little rainbow points, he felt something hit his head - it was a shiny red ball. Looking to his brother, it was clear where the blow came from, judging by Sirius’s defiant grin. After throwing the ornament back in a gesture of acceptance, they began their little war, running around the room, throwing the cushions at each other, sounds of laugh, the occasional complaints from Regulus, “Sirius, stop!”, “We need to finish before Mother comes back!” – As if Sirius would ever stop anything just because he asked – and heavy steps running around filling the room, until the sound of a stomp broke the spell of their play. Regulus stepped over the very same red object that started their game and fell harshly on the floor, twisting his ankle in the process.

Biting his lip, he fought the wave of heat that preceded tears but failed miserably; emerging together with tears, the sense of humiliation anticipated the embarrassment of Sirius’s mockeries. However, to his surprise – and, lately, Sirius was full of surprises – such unpleasant words never passed through his lips. What came out instead, along with his fast steps followed by comforting and embracing arms, were muttered worries and consolations, hot and humid against his cheek, until that same mouth traveled to the top of his head, planting a kiss, and the embracing arms wandered to hold him by the back of his knees and back, lifting and placing him on the sofa. Gently placing his injured ankle on a cushion, Sirius promised to come back before storming off upstairs, not letting any room to objections.

Father entered the room with an inscrutable expression, Sirius following right after, the bitterness in eyes and tightly closed lips unveiling resentfulness.

Regulus’s foot was healed; Sirius was sent to remain in his bedroom the rest of the day.

First and following days of Twelvetide were going as expected – everything thoroughly planned and executed, from the games to entertain the children to the banquet, and the fine wines that loosened the adults tongues, after the courses were all served and everyone seated lazily on the comfortable chairs and sofas on the drawing rooms of each house; women discussing fashion trends, their children’s education, and whispering the occasional gossip under their alcoholic breaths in cruel euphemisms, conspiratory tones and deriding smiles, the man, smoking expensive cigarettes, talking about politics and businesses - and tales similar to the woman’s whispers, though their vocabulary of choice were a tad crude, lacking the cold elegance their ladies carried in their lips.

Then, Twelfth night, the last one, came, carrying with it a multitude of sentiments.

At certain point of the night, after dinner, Bella pushed Regulus and pointed his resemblance to a young lady in a very derogatory remark upon the boy’s refusal to hand her his new broom, despite Cissy’s best efforts to pacify her sister’s tempestuous character – Bellatrix was a thunderstorm that she never quite learned to diminish in all her velvety gracefulness that could bring everyone else to comply with her wishes in soft words and fluttering golden lashes over shiny, baby blue eyes – and, to that, Regulus kept his silence and firm grip on the broom in pacifical resistance; Sirius’s responded with a grab of her long, soft, black curls, shoving her against the piano, which prompted an angry pull of her elbow against his stomach. She was all sharp elbows and sharp nails, a good match to Sirius’s brute yet elegant force. Uncle Cygnus’s strong hold of his daughter’s wrist apparted the fight; Bella was sent home via floo under an irate gaze and a harshly muttered promise of a _conversation_ , and Sirius had got Mother’s cold and controlled tone send him to his room.

Regulus felt the weight of his brother’s hand inside his pocket when he passed on his way upstairs.

After a hard win against Andromeda on chess, glancing at the grandfather clock on a corner, he excused himself to retire for the night, and judging by the tired eyes and inebriated flushes, thanks to the wines and the wassail, specially prepared for that sole night by the elves, celebrations were close to an end.

Inside his room, back against the door, Regulus took the small piece of parchment out of his pocket and read it with a thumping heart.

_Find me, my love, in the darkened garden,_   
_After everyone’s blanketed in dreams_   
_And fulfil my wish under the stars that named us._

With heavy steps and a thumping heart, he got closer and threw himself on the bed, the note inside his now sweating palms, secured under his chest, face down on the luxurious duvet.

He was well aware of his innocence and naivety, compared to the other boys from his dorms and their talks that made him confused and flustered on various occasions, a result of his lonely upbringing and shyness; yet, memories of his encounters with Sirius and his lingering touches that followed at school flooded his mind in heated waves that made his toes curl with it’s intensity. Sirius’s wish was clear as a cloudless day, and Regulus fully intended to concede it.

After all, he never truly had the heart to reject the forbidden nature of those touches. 

Having waited long hours to avoid the questioning that would follow if he was caught out of bed wandering around so early in the morning, when the first sun rays were still far away – or worse, being spotted at the garden in the middle of their affair – he left his room and maneuvered his way out of the house in nearly soundless steps, his bare feet light and skilled as a cat’s, taking extra care around the old cupboard Kreacher slept in, boots and a heavy cloak in hand to shield him from the winter waiting outside.

Sirius was sitting on a bench, with a bored expression, until he lifted those piercing grey eyes at him and a beautiful smile, gentler than the usual boyish grin, illuminated his handsome features in a way that sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. Standing up, the older boy lifted a hand in the air as an invitation, and Regulus, walking closer, accepted by putting his own, gloved and smaller hand on his, feeling regret for wearing the soft fabric that separated their skin.

Joined by hands, Sirius leaded him through the garden, passing the gazebo and some cherry trees, enchanted, as was the entire garden, to colour the area with beautiful light pink flowers all year, until they reached a more discreet area after tall evergreen shrubs, full of majestic white roses, planted under mother’s orders on the occasion of Sirius’s birth.

A wave of damp cold wind prompted Sirius to step in front of him and let go of his hand in favour of casting a warming charm on them, covering both in a mantle of magic, so similar to Regulus’s own, judging by the shared core of their wands and similar strengths at classes, as two split parts of a main power, perfect when united. The same hand that provided protection from the winter winds with a flick of a wand was placed on the smaller boy’s blushing cheeks, providing the connection that Regulus longed for with their hands, and a warmth even more comforting and magical that the heat provided by the charm. The touch, the warmth, in conjunction with the white roses surrounding them in the dark and the whistling winds made for a mystic combination that left him trembling in fear and excitement.

With a glimpse of hesitation, Sirius got closer to him, placing the other hand around the smaller boy's lower back and moving the hand on his cheek to the back of his neck, and a feather-light pull was all it took to close the remaining distance and their lips, connect. With eyes now closed, Regulus’s hands reached for his brother’s coat and firmly grasped them; an external manifestation of his now exploding, erratic heart beats and the heat taking over his stomach, the same he felt whenever he was being taken care of in sickness – from being loved in vulnerability – but much more intense; the feeling of Sirius’s full, wet lips covering his own was pure bliss, and those lips robbed him of any other thoughts as if nothing but them, hidden in the magical garden under the winter night sky, perfectly connected, existed. His firm hold eased, but his heart rate remained as frenetic as it was on it’s firsts beats when their mouths joined, the first beats after being drawn to a fairytale. In a final movement, Sirius trapped his lower lip into the soft, warm wetness of his own lips and let go slowly, making Regulus ache for more even before they were fully apart.

Opening his eyes and finding Sirius’s longing ones, he tried to capture every feeling, the smell of Sirius’s skin and the perfume of roses in the air, the sensations again his skin, even the absence tingling on his lips, and carve everything into his mind.

Overwhelmed, a tiny pool of wetness formed in his eyes; Sirius gently cupped his face in his hands, curving his body, head getting closer until their foreheads touched, and proffered the first words since Regulus stepped out of the house. “Happy Twelfth night,” he said, corners of his mouth lifting, “Hope you enjoyed the last gift, though technically, it’s not Twelvetide anymore.” The older boy finished, breaking contact and standing at full height.

“Well, admittedly, it’s better than I expected.” And, with a little smirk and a newly found boldness, he added, “Though I would have to experiment more to give a final insight. Don’t have any means of comparison yet.”

“Really,” Sirius queried, a hint of possessiveness in his voice that made Regulus feel oddly thrilled, “But why wasting efforts experimenting around when you can settle for the best? Besides, I think you would find such behaviour to be beneath your morality, Regulus Black.”

“But not beneath yours,” came the implied inquisition, a small bitterness hinted.

“No, but I am open minded,” he started, taking a wave of Regulus’s dark hair in his fingers and placing it against his ears, tone now huskier, “So I can set the bar a little higher.”

“Would you, really,” he asked, feeling small and full of questions he didn’t dare voice.

“For you, my Regulus, anything.”

Settling at the library with quill and parchment, on the very same table he used to discreetly watch Sirius's skin softly glowing at the sun rays passing through the big window during lessons, momentarily forgetting his initial intentions of answering Barty's letter, Regulus wondered what last night meant in face of his Sight’s revelations. Though not inherently contradictory, since they could happen in sequence, his dream on last night at Hogwarts settled a dark stain on the perfect glimpses of his future belonging with Sirius.

Suddenly, the last remaining of last night’s ecstatic energy that kept him well awake until Kreacher's announcement for breakfast finally subdued. Was Sirius sleepless, mind running a million thoughts at once in the solitude of his bedroom, just like himself? With that last musing, arms placed on the table, cushioning his head, he fell asleep.

From the library door, Orion observed his son, pensive.

Twilight rays invaded the room, it’s reddened lights - preludes to the upcoming nighttime - covering Regulus’s resting form.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it =)  
> This was, mostly, a prelude for next part, when more relevant events will take place.  
> Sorry for any misspellings or awkward phrasing, I'm not fluent in English, but if you wish, you can let me know and I'll correct them.  
> Also, the name of the series comes from a beautiful piece by Max Richter, that I highly reccomend you to listen


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